Let Me Go (Owned Book 2)

by Gebhard, Mary Catherine

  Eli took a red cup from someone I’d never met before and thanked him. Eli had a lot of friends outside of me. He was big and joyful, with a personality you couldn’t help but love. His laugh was infectious, deep and rumbling. Eli told the best jokes, too, which meant he wasn’t just laughing, he was making you laugh. I wasn’t surprised that Eli had a lot of friends—I’d’a been surprised if he didn’t.

  We’d come to a tacit agreement long ago that Eli wouldn’t introduce me to his friends. It was too complicated. I risked enough bein’ with Eli. I’d risk it over and over again, to be sure, but I just couldn’t have friends. I only had enough willpower to withstand bruises for one person, and that person was Eli.

  I didn’t waste time bein’ sad that Eli had all these friends and I just had Eli, because Eli was enough. I thanked whomever was listening every night that Eli had come to me that day. Before him I’d been so utterly alone. I smiled at the memory, before smiling up at Eli.

  “What’s in there?” I asked, watching as Eli nearly finished the cup in one gulp.

  “You wouldn’t like it,” he replied, wiping his mouth.

  “Is it beer?” I stood on my tiptoes, trying to look into the mouth of the cup as Eli raised it farther and farther out of my view.

  “Could be,” Eli replied, laughter in his voice. “Want some?”

  “Could be,” I replied. Eli lowered the cup, handing it to me. I inspected it carefully, sniffing it and squinting at it. It smelled like Daddy and was sludge-colored, with bits of foam on the top. I had a great urge to toss the stuff out, but a deeper part of me, a part I didn’t want to invite to dinner, wanted to imbibe.

  I took a swig.

  “Yuck!” I wiped my mouth off. “You like this?”

  Eli shrugged. “It’s an acquired taste.”

  “Who would want to acquire that?”

  He smiled. “Told ya.” He reached for the cup, but I held on to it. “I thought you didn’t like it?”

  “Why would you want to acquire it?”

  Eli smiled. “It makes you feel good.”

  Daddy popped in my head, angry and monstrous. I shook that image away quicker than a cat on a pile of firecrackers.

  “Hmmm.” I peered into the liquid. Maybe it wasn’t sludge-colored. Maybe it was golden. I tipped the cup back and let the remainder of the liquid fall down my throat.

  I followed Eli to the outside of the barn, where he sat on a hay bale and stared into the dark night like it was telling him something. Out there it was quieter. The rowdy sounds of dancing and kissing were muffled by the wood and only escaped through slats and weathered holes.

  “You’re so handsome,” I cooed, jumping on top of Eli and straddling his waist.

  Eli’d been talking and laughing with people I didn’t know most of the night. He tried to include me in the conversation, of course, but I shrugged him off. Eli talking to friends without me meant I could sneak more drinks.

  “And you’re drunk.” Eli reached for the cup in my hand, but I shied away and cradled it to my chest. The cup was magical. It made me feel amazing and beautiful and happy. No one was getting that cup from me. Eli frowned.

  “How many of those have you had, Grace?”

  I shrugged. “You’re the genius, not me.” I giggled. “You do the math.”

  “I’d say one too many.” Eli reached for the cup again, but again I moved it out of his way.

  Changing the subject from me and my cup, I wiggled on his lap. “I like this.”

  Eli and I didn’t get enough time alone. Sure, we found ways to see each other. We’d developed a routine. I would wait until Daddy had his afternoon nap, usually after he had his afternoon beers, and then sneak out the front door. We’d meet by Mrs. Nelson’s sugar maple tree and have about one to two hours until Daddy woke up.

  It was never enough time. Some days I stayed out past Daddy’s nap and paid for it with bruises. I had to lie to Eli on those days. I would say that Daddy drank an extra beer and would sleep longer, otherwise Eli wouldn’t let me stay out later. He refused to risk me.

  Eli was gettin’ wise to me though. Even if I told him now that Daddy drank extra, he took me back to the tree. We hadn’t made love in months. I missed him. I missed his touch. I missed his feel. It wasn’t fair that I was holed up as some prisoner without Eli.

  Eli didn’t understand. Daddy beat me regardless. Daddy beat me some days just ‘cause he felt like it. I knew Eli meant good by what he did, that he wanted to make sure no harm came to me when we were out, but it didn’t matter. Daddy was always gonna beat me.

  Nights like these Eli and I both knew what was going to happen to me when I got home. I’d left and Daddy knew I’d left. When I got home there was a beating waiting for me; so we just ignored the inevitable and had fun. I wished we could do that on our days, too. I wished we could stop pretending that because I got home before he woke up, he might not beat me.

  That was never the case, but it made Eli feel a little bit better, so I kept pretending.

  I moved again, feeling him stir beneath me, and Eli frowned.

  I stopped, frowning also. “What?”

  “You’re not acting like yourself.”

  “I know you like it too. I can feel it. I can feel you.”

  “Of course I like it, Gracie.” Eli huffed and pushed me off of him. I fell to the side, landing on a hay bale less than gracefully. “Why are you acting like this?”

  “Like what?” I folded my arms in a pout. “I’m not actin’ like anything.”

  “What’s wrong, Bug? What’s going on in that head of yours?” Eli asked, calling me by the nickname he’d given me years ago. It was one of the first times I’d left home to meet him. At the time, there was nothing romantic between us. He was just a friend; we were only kids then, after all, and well, he’d dared me to eat a bug.

  I ate it because I was so terrified that if I didn’t, he’d stop playing with me. After that he called me Bug. At the time, Eli thought it was hilarious. He thought I was the kind of person who liked eating bugs. Having known me for years now, he knew why I’d eaten the bug and didn’t find it as funny any more. Still, the nickname stuck.

  “Just take me home Eli.”

  I tiptoed past the overgrown grass, yellowed from lack of water, and up the dilapidated porch. The entire ride home with Eli had been silent. He wanted in my head and I wanted him out. Any word I spoke would have given me away. I wanted him happy and carefree, but the closer he got to me, the more ruined he became. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t carefree. I was bruised and damaged and worthless. Some days I wondered if he would have been better off if I had never given him my name. If I had just kept walking the day he’d asked.

  The porch squeaked as my foot collided with the wood. Internally I cringed, hoping no one inside heard me, though of course they did. Daddy was always up. Always waiting. Still, a girl can dream.

  Carefully, so as not to announce my presence, I opened the screen door. It squealed like a dying cat, its hinges in desperate need of oiling. I pushed open the second door and entered my jail. Inside was blacker than outside, with no stars or moon to guide me. Just black.

  “Do you know why I named you Grace?”

  I jumped, frightened. “Daddy!” He was sitting in the dark and I hadn’t seen him. He looked like just another shadow. A big shadow. A menacing phantom that haunted my dreams.

  “Answer the question, girl!” Daddy yelled, his voice booming like thunder.

  “No—no, sir,” I stuttered. Any happiness I’d felt vanished. I hoped he couldn’t smell the booze on me. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t; he’d find another reason to hit me.

  “I thought you were sent from God himself,” Daddy whispered into the darkness, his voice cooler than the sensation creeping up my spine. Tonight was different than all the other nights.

  I felt like falling back into the screen door and running out into the night. Whatever was on the streets was better than what he had in store for me. Something was o
ff about him; like the cupboards in our kitchen, he’d come unhinged.

  “I was wrong,” he laughed. “God sent you to test me. To punish me.”

  He was on me before I could blink, his breath smelling of stale beer, his eyes the only shining thing in the darkness. Like devil’s eyes. Bright and menacing. Knuckles bruising into my flesh, he gripped my arm tightly and forced me to stand on my tiptoes to meet his stale breath.

  “Are you satisfied?” he asked. “Are you? Have I been judged?”

  I cried. “I don’t know what you want me to say!”

  Letting go, he threw me down. My back hit the door with a crack. I cried out in pain.

  “I won’t bend to you!” He spat at me and then walked away.

  I stayed on the ground, my tears wetting my knees.

  I would have preferred a beating.

  “Have you ever had lobster, Grace?”

  Lenny—sorry “call me whatever you want, but my name is Lennox”—and I were seated at a restaurant right over the beach. It was dusk and the sun was setting in oranges and purples above the inky ocean. Below people walked along the sand fully clothed, the beachgoers having gone home with the sun. An angry storm was brewing along the horizon. I watched as lightning marred the watercolor sky with harsh cracks, appearing to slap the ocean.

  “I should have had us eat inside,” Lennox said, following my vision. “It doesn’t usually rain this time of year. At least not like this. Hopefully the storm won’t reach us until we’re finished eating. So…the lobster. Think you’ll want to try it?”

  “Does it taste like fish?” I asked, returning my gaze to the menu. It wasn’t very fancy, which I was glad for. Even though the prices were far beyond what I could afford, the food itself was simple. Macaroni and cheese, hamburgers, and fries were the kinds of normal food I was considering, though the prices were sitting in the high forties. I guessed we were paying for the view.

  “Not really. It tastes like what they season it with, and butter of course. But the lobster is so good here. If you’ve never had it, I would recommend trying it here first.” Lennox set down her menu as the waiter returned with our drinks. I ordered water, not wanting to pay for more than I could afford. Lennox ordered some kind of alcoholic drink that had numbers in it.

  “We’ll start off with fries, thank you, but we need some more time to decide. Also there will be a third joining us.”

  “A third?” I asked as the waiter disappeared. The sky darkened as the storm stretched its tendrils closer to us. I felt a chilly breeze that promised rain and thunder and carried the harsh smell of sea. The restaurant turned on its lights, but that somehow made everything appear darker.

  “Vic will be joining us after all. Are you sure you don’t want something besides water? They make a great strawberry lemonade if you don’t like alcohol. It’s made with fresh strawberries.”

  I shook my head. “No. No, thank you. Vic is coming?”

  Lennox reached over, grabbed my hand, and said, “Grace.” Her eyes grew dark and serious, but there was something else in them too, something I couldn’t place. “I think you’ll like this family. Vic only has me. I don’t have much of anyone either. It’s just me and him, and Lissie and Zoe.”

  “Lissie and Zoe?” I responded, almost because I only wanted something to say. What she’d said to me was everything I wanted to hear; it was the reason I’d come to California—though I couldn’t help but wonder if Vic even knew what she was saying to me. Did he want me to be a part of their family?

  “Yes!” Lennox removed her hand from mine and picked up the menu. “They’re more family than friends. They’re expecting a child soon. Oh my god”—Lennox looked up from the menu like she’d just had an epiphany—“you have to come to the baby shower. They want to meet you so fucking bad. It’s perfect.”

  “I don’t know…” It sounded like, well…not like fun, but like I should go. Lennox was being so warm and kind to me, the complete opposite of Vic.

  “I’m not going to take no for an answer,” Lennox remarked casually. “I’ll come and drag you to the damn thing. You’ll be a part of this family whether you like it or not.”

  “I would like it.”

  Lennox peered over her menu. “So what’s the hold up?”

  What was the hold up? “Nothing.” I smiled. “I’ll come. It sounds fun.”

  “Good. Oh—here he is! Vic!” Lennox waved her hand, gesturing at someone. The dark sky and bright lights made it hard for me to see at whom she was waving. Even though I knew who it was—I mean she’d just said it was Vic—I felt the need to see him before he arrived. All I could see were dark shadows, though, and the distant thunder made the whole scenario intimidating.

  I nearly stood and excused myself. I’d shown up—twice—to meet my brother. I wanted this, but both times had been on my terms. This time, he was advancing like a shade in the night. Soon Vic walked into the light, his features appearing gaunt and like caricatures at first. Lennox stood up and kissed him on the cheek, gesturing at the empty seat next to her. Though Lennox sat, Vic remained standing.

  He looked nothing like me, but that wasn’t a shock; I knew he’d been adopted. I’d seen him my first day in California, when he’d come to the door—at least, I’d seen enough to recognize him from the photo I’d stolen out of Mama’s things. It had been an older picture; Vic must have been a teenager then, but his features were distinct. I’d run away too quickly to really study him, though.

  He had long black hair and soybean colored skin, a square jaw that appeared perpetually set and black eyes. I also had dark hair and dark eyes, but my skin was paler than bone. Our appearance wasn’t what differentiated us, though that might have been the most obvious thing. I felt that even though we weren’t related by blood, we had something deeper to connect us: we had our parents, who were far more dangerous and more twisted than any vein.

  I thought our kinship would be obvious when we were together. I didn’t know if I was expecting a big bear hug or a brotherly smile, but I surely hadn’t been expecting what I got. The distance and the cold silence only reminded me of one thing: the house where we’d grown up, together but apart.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Vic growled at me.

  “Vic!” Lennox scolded.

  I blinked, not realizing I’d been staring at Vic. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I felt like a fool to have ever believed we could be brother and sister. Nothing good came out of that house. Nothing at all.

  “Sorry.” I fumbled through my words. “I should go. I shouldn’t have come.” As I was standing to leave, words tumbling out of my mouth like a mudslide, I felt a hand grab my own.

  “No way,” Lennox said, smiling at me. She pulled me back into my seat. “We still haven’t ordered and I refuse to be the only one tasting these fries. Ignore Vic; he sometimes forgets how to talk to people. Vic”—Lennox turned to him, her face deadly saccharine—“you say ‘hello’ and then they say ‘hello’ and then you ask how their day was. Need any more tips?” Her sweet voice had an edge to it that I feared to get near, lest I be cut.

  Vic smiled back at Lennox, sitting down. There was some kind of energy between them, like a crackling, fatal wire left unattended in the water now pouring down outside. If I reached out and touched it, I’d be electrocuted.

  The storm around us was getting stronger and the water was pouring down. Soon I’d be surrounded by water, and there’d be nowhere to go that wouldn’t be twitching with their dangerous current. Still standing, I watched their silent, snapping energy. My mind told me to leave, to run back to my apartment and forget I’d ever known Vic. My body said otherwise.

  I felt pulled into them. My gut wrenched and tugged. I sat down, expelling a breath.

  Turning to Lennox, I adopted my own fake smile. “So the lobster?”

  Dinner had been ordered and placed. I’d gotten the lobster at Lennox’s behest. It was really good. So good that I spent about five minutes wondering how I could have spent my li
fe without lobster. Then I spent the next five minutes remembering that most of my life hadn’t been my choice. Most of my life had been forced on me. If I’d wanted lobster before moving to California, I wouldn’t have been able to eat it.

  So that was kind of a downer.

  I quickly shoved those memories back and took another bite of lobster. Other than the delicious crustacean, dinner was a disappointment. Lennox was doing all the talking. My brother might as well have been a decoration on the wall. He sat in the seat opposite me, only moving to crack open his lobster.

  Despite the raging storm around us, we still ate outside. The restaurant manager even came outside to beg us to move inside, but Vic just shot him a look and he walked away with his metaphorical tail between his legs. We weren’t getting too wet, but the occasional spray of rain splashed against my face. Eating outside in the storm was beautiful in a rebellious way.

  “So Grace, are you enjoying California?” Lennox asked, taking a sip of her third drink.

  “What is your problem?” I spat, glaring at Vic. Setting her drink down carefully, Lennox coughed. “Sorry, Lennox,” I continued, still looking at Vic. “I was talking to my brother.”

  Vic looked up from his meal for the first time all night. “Excuse me?” His eyes were darker than the bruised sky around us. He hadn’t looked at me straight the entire time I’d been there, and their intensity nearly floored me. I gripped the table, holding myself firm. I had handled much worse in my life than Vic Wall’s attitude.

  “What is your problem?” I repeated, emphasizing each word. Lightning swept the entire sky. Its intensity crackled momentarily, changing the night from black to a yellow-white shock.

  Lennox laughed, unperturbed. “Well that question would take all night to conquer properly. Maybe even a few months.”

  Vic shot her a look, and then went back to eating. “I don’t have a problem.”